


Sometimes, gifts deliver themselves right in your home.

by AteanaLenn



Series: Steter(ish) shorts [10]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Not Beta Read, PWP without Porn, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 08:33:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11802360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AteanaLenn/pseuds/AteanaLenn
Summary: Sometimes, nice things happen to Peter. Like bold twinks showing up at his house. Or at least, one twink.





	Sometimes, gifts deliver themselves right in your home.

**Author's Note:**

> To give you an idea of the level of pwp, the working title of this fic was "Steter: fucking", lol.
> 
> Anyway! :D  
> A friend reblogged [this gif (warning: super nsfw)](http://AteanaLenn.tumblr.com/post/164171451287), and as much as I don't usually care for smut/tend to speed read through those parts in fanfics, I had... the urge to write smut? My brain is weird. So, here you go, 3.000 words just because I wanted Stiles to ride Peter's dick.
> 
> Also, I didn't tag as "underage", because the timeline is explicitly said to be like, three months before he turns 18.
> 
> Last warning, this work has not been beta read and English isn't my first language.

Getting his identity established again is one hell of a pain in the ass. 

Peter puts down the phone, relaxing back into his desk chair. Finally. Fucking finally, he’s done with the paperwork. Mostly? Fuck, they’ve better be done, or he’s going to kill someone. Again. 

He once again curses his crazy brain for coming up with the “let’s escape from the hospital without anyone knowing and get my reveeeeenge, who cares about fucking up the rest of my supernaturally long life, so what if I can’t explain the lack of scars and get my life and name and money back?” idea. He’s done stupid things, but that one certainly took the cake.

Well, at least everything should be cleared now. It might have taken months, a lot of threats (that he can’t really back up, since apparently his wolf is taking his sweet time healing them from their “back from the grave” situation, but who the fuck would know anyway), and also a fuckton of money. It grates him to have to fork up so much money, but having an ID again and security card was worth it.

Of course, the funniest part of all is that, as soon as he was back on his feet and his brain mostly running straight again, he went and changed the “locks” on the ancestral Hale vault. Which was way easier than he’d expected. Apparently Derek hadn’t checked it out at all? It makes Peter wonder if his nephew even knows about it. Not that he’s going to volunteer info. He doesn’t really begrudge Derek for killing him and taking the Alpha power. Peter hadn’t come out of coma with all his brain fired up anymore more, and the sudden influx of power hadn’t helped at all. He’s been completely crazy and a danger to the whole community. If he’d been halfway “there”, he’d have gathered proofs and sent it all to the Tribunal, and then watched the Argents crash and burn. They’d probably have gotten  _ all the Argents _  too, not just that bitch Kate. Though Victoria did die, there’s that, and Gerard is probably half-way into the grave too. 

Peter is stretching hard and finally relaxing when someone knocks on his door. 

It’s a surprise. The building is in a good part of the town, a good way away from downtown/not too far from a trail leading to the Preserve. But he really chose it because it’s on the opposite side from where his nephew’s disparate pack get together most of the time, so unless someone has a lot of luck, they shouldn’t have scented his trail. And he certainly didn’t give his address to anyone. 

He can’t smell them from inside the room and over all the various every scents, but he doesn’t need to. Five seconds spent listening tell him who managed to track him down. 

“Stiles,” he greets almost cheerfully. He’s not even surprised that the little shit managed to track him down. Stiles has come a long way since Peter woke up from coma and all the mess that followed, ending with the Gerard showdown. It’s been months now, and, now that he thinks about it, Stiles might not be far from his eighteenth birthday. They grow up so fast, he thinks with a mental eyeroll.

“Peter.”

They stare at each other for a moment. Stiles is the first to cave. 

“I need to talk with you.”

“What is it now? Did Derek lose control of his puppies? Did he catch an alpha sniffing around his territory?”

“What? No!” Stiles brushes past, going straight for the sofa and plopping his ass down without waiting for a welcome.

Peter does roll his eyes and closes the door. “Then was bring you to my home, if there’s no danger? And how did you find this place anyway?”

“Oh, please. You wolves think you’re so good because you can listen and smell better, like you can catch all the threats. Newsflash, that’s called hypervigilance and you might have had it after the coma, but you said yourself, dying and coming back pretty much reset you.”

“You’re telling me that you successfully hid yourself and were skillful enough to follow me without me catching you.” The human is good, yes, but not that good. Peter stares him down.

“Okay, so I put a bug on your car and followed you on the GPS. Newsflash (again), this is the modern world!”

Peter feels a strong need to roll his eyes, again (as usual). “Stiles. What do you want?”

“Okay.”

Stiles looks like he’s psyching himself up and that’s not exactly giving confiance to Peter.

“You know all that UST between the two of us? Let’s do something about that.”

What? “What?”

“Let’s fuck. I want to ride your dick. Is that clear enough?”

Well, it’s certainly enough to drive the breath out of Peter and all his blood south. He suddenly very much want to watch that twink ride his dick. He should probably try to dissuade him, but… Nope.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

“What?”

“Well, what are you waiting for? My dick isn’t going to ride itself.”

“Fuck yeah,” Stiles breathes out, scrambling up from the sofa and almost sprinting to the bedroom.

Stiles might wear way too many layers to “be cool”, but he certainly knows how to take them off fast. He does almost brain himself on the corner of the bed twice, but the clothes come off eventually. 

Peter takes his time to give the boy time for second thoughts. He’s nice like that. Peter takes off his shirt and sweatpants, laying them neatly on the back of a chair, then slides open the nightstand drawer, grabbing lube and condoms.

Stiles is waiting on the bed, kneeling, and looking almost ready to vibrate out of his skin from eagerness. His dick is already fully hard, standing flush against his underbelly, a clear drop of precome pearled on the head. 

Peter takes his time staring at that pretty sight. He debates asking if it’s the other man’s first time, but chances are that Stiles would answer no anyway, or obfuscates. He’s gotten very good at that, and drowning the truth in half lies doesn’t make his heart stutter.

“Condom?” he asks instead.

“Deaton says you guys can’t catch most human disease.”

“We don’t. They’re burned out of our body within hours. But it’s easier to clean up.”

“I’ve got all the time,” Stiles answers breathlessly.

“Alright.”

The condoms are dropped on the nightstand, and the lube on the pillow. Then Peter steps up on the bed, kneeling over the pretty boy, and catches Stiles’ mouth in a searing kiss. He doesn’t feel like going slow and that’s not what Stiles wants anyway, or he wouldn’t have showed up and asked point blank to be sexed up.

Stiles isn’t particularly skilled at kissing. Peter expects that it’s more from lack of practice, because it doesn’t take him long to get into the groove. He smells of sweat and arousal. It’s not a bad scent. 

Peter pushes Stiles’ head back, tilting it a bit until his neck in on display. Stiles’ breath stutters once, but he doesn’t try to get away. Peter rewards him with light bites along the sensitive skin and under his jaw. He sucks a nice hickey below his ear, enjoying Stiles moans and the way the boy grabs onto him and squeezes his biceps.

“Come here baby,” Peter whispers against Stiles’ skin, pulling him toward the head of the bed.

They drop down carelessly, Stiles half buried under Peter’s mass, but he doesn’t seem to mind, from the fresh burst of arousal that Peter can smell. The boy seems to enjoy being pressed down into the bed. Peter takes note.

Stiles’ skin is soft. But under it, Peter can feel the muscles that he’s built during those months of training since his first encounter with the supernatural community. 

They kiss a while longer, until Stiles is moaning almost non stop and Peter can barely hold his claws in. It’s a relief to be with someone aware of his wolf side, who won’t scream their head off if his eyes turn a little too blue, but still, it wouldn’t be polite to scratch his lover without meaning to. Peter slides his leg between Stiles, enjoying the rasp of hair against hair. It one of the thing he loves with men, the textures. Women try so much to be neat and clean and smell nice and look good. Of course, he understands that they are pressured into it and it’s certainly not their fault. But it’s still a problem for a werewolf with a sensitive nose. Though men also like to use a lot of product, these days. He’s lucky that Stiles does understand what it means, to live close to creatures with hyper senses, and behaves accordingly. Peter much prefers the smell of sweat, than choking on half a bottle of Axe.

“Oh my god Peter, you need to get on with it, before I explode.”

“You’re young. I’m sure we could drag a couple more orgasms out of you.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles repeats breathlessly. He already looks wrecked, a nice blush on his cheeks and his hair mussed, spread out like a feast in Peter’s bed.

Peter is very interested by the way the boy clings to him and moans in his ear like a porn star. But Stiles put an idea in his mind earlier and he wants that.

He rolls them over.

Stiles squeaks then laughs, and that’s nice to hear too.

Peter stretches hard, then asks. “You prepared yourself, didn’t you? I can smell the lube. Or did you fuck yourself before deciding that you’d rather have the real deal and showed up here?”

Surprisingly, there’s no shyness or embarrassment in Stiles’ scent when he answers. “A bit of both? But it’s been almost an hour buy now.”

“Alright then. Give your hand here.” Peter gropes around a few seconds until he finds the lube. He squirts a bit in Stiles’ palm, then relax again on the bed. “Show me,” he says with a smirk.

Stiles rolls his eyes, his whole upper body following the movement, but does adjust his position, kneeling over Peter’s stomach. He coats a couple of fingers into the stuff, then reaches back. 

The position is awkward and the give of the mattress doesn’t help. Peter knows that Stiles won’t be able to hold the position long without falling over. He’d rather they get on with it though. Peter grabs onto Stiles hips, holding him firmly up, just a hint of claws grazing the boy’s skin. Stiles looks down at him a few seconds, then looks back at the bed, blushing anew for some reason. Peter can make a guess though, between the “pressed into the bed thing”, the fresh burst of arousal when Peter turned them around, and now this.

“I’m good.”

Peter almost asks “you’re sure?”, but if there’s one thing he should be able to trust an almost twenty years old with easy access to the anonymity of Internet, it’s that the boy knows how much he needs to finger himself, to fit the width of whatever he’s putting up his ass this time.

“Good, sit back baby,” he purrs, after giving a moment to Stiles to wipe his hands on the cloth he keeps next to his bed just for that purpose.

Stiles shuffles on knees a bit, vaguely looking back behind himself, probably to judge the distance, before he firmly looks back forward at Peter. 

Peter watches with amusement as the boy let’s himself be moved and positioned as Peter wishes, chin raised and all but daring Peter to comment. Peter smirks, but doesn’t say a word. He’s honestly too busy getting his cock lined up. Want is burning strong in his chest, and it feels like his wolf is going to claw his way out of Peter’s rib cage, if Peter doesn’t get a move on.

Stiles moans, low and lingering, as Peter slowly guides him down. 

It would be much too easy to hurt the boy in this position by letting him fall too fast. Peter’s grip is probably too tight on Stiles’ hips, he’s going to leave marks, but quite frankly, he doesn’t care (with a healthy dose of “hell yes”).

“Dammit Peter, I can take it.”

“Good things should be savored, Stiles.”

“Fuck now, savor later.”

Stiles is pretty much fully sat in Peter’s lap, so he gives in graciously. “Very well,” he says, snapping his hips up hard.

Stiles cries out, head thrown back, his pretty neck fully on display. The boy’s dick is still hard as a rock and leaking on Peter’s stomach now.

Peter doesn’t hesitate anymore. Stiles may not have had any or many partners, but that hole is absolutely  _ not _  virgin-tight. Peter wants to fuck him hard until Stiles can’t sit for a week. 

He does just that.

The room is full of cries and moans, the smell of sex omnipresent and almost overpowering to Peter’s senses. He plants his feet into the mattress and sets up a hard rhythm, fucking up into Stiles’ hole hard and fast, probably too hard for a human.

Stiles doesn’t complains. At all.

Within a few minutes of that pace, Stiles falls half forward, leaning on his elbows on each side of Peter’s face. He’s gasping in Peter’s ear, almost mewling.

Peter fucks him harder.

It’s exhilarating. The way Stiles lets him fuck, how he trusts Peter to hold him up, the way he doesn’t try to jerk himself off. The way his ass takes Peter’s cock completely, and there’s not even a twinge of pain for Peter to pull out through his werewolf powers, no matter how hard Peter fucks him.

He varies the pace, slows down just a bit, but snaps his hips against Stiles’ ass that much harder each time. He wants to crawl up into the boy, dick first.

Stiles appears to be completely on board with that idea.

The boy’s brain finally fires up again, because he catches his breath, still moaning in Peter’s ears, then adjusts his knees just a bit, then again, then another time. On the last shuffle he seems to have find the best angle, because his cries rise up another notch and his ass tries to squeeze the life out of Peter’s cock every time he thrusts up.

It feels too good to last. He’s only had sex a couple of time since “waking up” and he had to be wary and controlled each time. There’s no such need with Stiles. Neither of them care that Peter’s eyes glow a bit nor that he’s growling non stop now, unable to fully reign in his wolf. All Stiles cares for is to keep the right angle apparently. Peter just wants to bury himself in that delicious ass and never come out.

Peter slides his hands up behind Stiles’ back, until he can grasp the boy’s shoulders from behind. As soon as he’s got a good hold, he holds him immobile, and let’s go, fucking up hard and swirling his hips to rub against Stiles’ prostate.

“Peter! Oh my god, Peter,” Stiles chants his name between gulps of air. 

Stiles sounds desperate and Peter would probably laugh if he didn’t need to come just as much. “Come on, pretty boy, come for me, I’ve got you,” he says a couple of time.

Then Stiles’ body grows rigid all at once and he comes all over Peter’s stomach.

It makes his wolf want howl his victory to the world. Peter ignores him and concentrates on milking the last spasms of pleasure from his lover.

With a shuddering breath, Stiles relaxes and pretty much collapses on Peter’s chest.

“You good baby?”

“Yeah,” Stiles swallows thickly. “Yeah, go ahead. You’re close…?”

“Yes,” Peter murmurs, wrapping his arms around Stiles and holding on tightly, his nose buried into the boy’s neck. 

He really is close, which is good because Stiles is probably near being overwhelmed too. Peter plants his feet in the bed again, then fucks up hard and fast into Stiles’ pliant body, chasing his own release at top speed. “God,” he gasps, then pushes up one last time as deep as he can make it, balls tight against Stiles’ ass, his cock emptying in thick burst into the boy’s body.

-

The room is silent, except for the quiet sound of their breathing. 

Given the angle of the sun against the wall, they’ve been floating in mindless aftershocks of pleasure for a while now. 

The dirty lubed up cloth brushes against his arm and Peter remembers vaguely having cleaned up Stiles semen with a corner of the thing. At least they aren’t stuck together.

Stiles hasn’t moved either. He’s still slumped over Peter’s chest, his only concession to comfort being the way he’s straightened his legs along Peter’s. But he’s still holding onto Peter’s shoulder, his face hidden in Peter’s neck too, albeit much more relaxed.

Stiles also carefully keeps his legs spread  _ just a bit _ .

Peter noses into the boy’s hair a moment, sliding his hands back down onto Stiles’ hips. The pain draw turns his veins faintly grey, but nothing too bad. Stiles still slouches a bit more against him, as the discomfort of being fucked raw eases.

“Alright there?” Peter murmurs.

“Ngh,” is Stiles’ only answer.

Well then. He’ll just have to take the boy’s earlier enthusiasm and current relaxed pose as a “all good”.

Peter gently turns on his side, catching the boy as he slips off his body. Stiles mewls when his legs close, but he lets himself be manipulated, staring at Peter behind half closed eyes.

Peter snorts, then casually slips his hand between Stiles’ legs. Conveniently, they immediately part open for him. He smirks down at the boy, gently slipping a finger inside his body. Stiles’ hole is still hot and swollen, gaping just a bit, but the pain draw doesn’t have any effect.

He wipes off his hands, grabs the bottle of water off his nightstand, and helps Stiles drink some without drowning himself. Then Peter pulls the light blanket from under their legs and tugs it over the both of them. He doesn’t need rest like a human does after such a hard fuck, but it’s nice to have a warm, cuddly body against his for a few hours.

“Sleep, Stiles,” he says, then buries his nose back into the boy’s hair.

**Author's Note:**

> There we go :)  
> Please, leave a comment on your way out <3
> 
> If you want to reblog this, [here is a tumblr link](http://AteanaLenn.tumblr.com/post/164180489027/sometimes-gifts-deliver-themselves-right-in-your).


End file.
